Nighthawks
by not jackie
Summary: Lisa Cuddy walks into a bar. No, it's not a bad joke, though I'm sure she wishes it were. post-"wilson's heart", angst abounding, rating for alcohol use and fairly mild cursing.


quick note: this is set sometime after "wilson's heart" and before "dying changes everything". also, i do in fact own "house". this is precisely why i'm writing fanfiction instead of crying myself to sleep at night because i had to write kutner off the show. lame. (of course, you may want to note the catchy phrase "everybody lies"... just saying...)

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Lisa Cuddy walked into the small pub off of 5th Street. Even though the hole-in-the-wall bar had a cozy atmosphere, she felt a little out of place in her hastily thrown on sweat pants and yoga shirt. At least her dark curly hair pulled back in a messy pony tail didn't come off as disheveled as she felt. She paused briefly, searching for and finding the tall man sitting at the edge of the bar in the corner. Taking a deep breath she strode across the space and slid into the stool next to him.

She watched him take a slow drink of God only knows what. His brown eyes were fixed ahead, seeing only what was going through his head. He hadn't noticed her.

"Wilson," she said gently, touching his shoulder.

He jumped, startled out of his reverie, and for the moment before he recognized her, looked absolutely terrified. He blinked in slow realization. "What're you doing here?" He asked.

"I heard you could use a ride," she tried to smile warmly though she was sure her worry reached her eyes.

"For a second I thought-" He pursed his lips and shook his head slightly, as if to ward off his thoughts. He turned back to his drink.

Cuddy inhaled sharply, somehow knowing what he meant. "James," she prodded, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. "How many have you had?"

"Too many," he admitted. He took another swallow and sighed. "Not enough."

There were too many things that Lisa Cuddy could have said in that moment, yet not one of them would have provided a shred of comfort. Following Wilson's lead, she gazed into the rows of bottles, some dusty, and others polished.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered softly.

Wilson nodded acknowledgement, then rubbed the back of his neck. "What time is it?"

Cuddy glanced down at her watch. "A little bit after two."

"I suppose we should go." She could tell he wanted, maybe even needed, to stay a bit longer.

"Why don't you finish your drink, then we'll go." For the first time in her career, Cuddy wondered if she could get away with coming into work later than eight o'clock.

Wilson nodded. "Let me get you something." He motioned for the bartender.

"Wilson, it's really okay, I'm fine," she declined.

"I insist, Lisa. It's the least I can do after dragging you out of your house at two in the morning," Wilson said earnestly.

Cuddy glanced from the unwavering Wilson, to the expectant bartender, and to Wilson again. She sighed. Never let a friend drink alone, she supposed. "Just water would be fine, thanks." She smiled at the burly, but caring-looking, man behind the counter. She turned her attentions towards the intoxicated oncologist once again.

"Wilson?"

His eyebrows were furrowed, as if perplexed. "I didn't call you," he mused.

"What?" She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"I didn't call you, I called House." He stated. "He didn't even pick up, He forwarded my call to voicemail. How did you…?" Wilson trailed off, trying to make sense of it. Suddenly, he gasped, his eyes widening. "You… you and _House_? Were-were…"

Though watching his disheveled train of thought was amusing, Cuddy decided to nip this rumor in the bud. "_No_," she interjected emphatically, though she took a quick sip of her water as an attempt to escape the slight blush that crept to her cheeks at his implications. "Seriously, Wilson, finish your drink so we can go home." Pushing back her office hours to begin at nine o'clock was looking better by the second.

He obliged her by sipping pensively at his drink. After being chided by Cuddy, the man's spirits fell once again, though he was still puzzled. "Really, Cuddy," Wilson spoke again. "How _did_ you know I was here? The only person that could've known was House."

"It's probably better I'm here," She shrugged frankly. "House would probably drink himself past being able to drive on your tab." Cuddy tried once again to escape by busying herself with drinking her water. It was kind of bitter, probably tap. She hoped it didn't contain lead.

"You said you weren't with him," Wilson continued, searching her expression. "You don't-well, at least, I _think_ you don't go out regularly at two in the morning to hunt down your employees."

"I was already out, Wilson. You needed a ride. I could give you one." Cuddy gave a short, sarcastic laugh. "Though, if you decide to question your blessings rather than finish your drink, I may just leave you here."

"But wh-?" He inserted a huffy sigh as he reformed his plan of attack. "Lisa," Wilson pressed, then remembered to take another sip. "Please."

Cuddy sighed. Damn, it was hard to resist those eyes. "I-" She began, but immediately broke off, trying to think of the most delicate way to phrase what she had to say.

"I was driving him home," she yielded.

Wilson blinked, slowly processing the information. "But…" He started, then stopped, remembering something. "He hasn't called me since…"

"I know," Cuddy finished for him, voice barely audible. She blinked away the tears that sprang to her eyes as Wilson took a shaky breath and dropped his head to bury his face in his hands.

Rubbing his eyes, he lifted his head back up. "How often?"

"Wilson, you can't worry about him." She sighed knowing that he couldn't. Wilson needed to pull himself together before he could go back to worrying about his screw-up of a best friend. Cuddy looked at her watch. As far as she could tell with a quick glance, it was between 2:40 and 2:45.

He swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to rid his voice of strain. "How often?"

Cuddy shook her head. "This was the second time this week." It was only Wednesday. Thursday, technically. "At least he's not drinking himself to death at home."

Wilson took a swig of his drink. "That just means he didn't think he had enough alcohol at home."

Cuddy realized that Wilson was probably right. Actually, she amended, he probably knew for sure. "Wilson…" She trailed off, deliberating how much of this conversation he would remember in the morning. Not much, she figured. "He'll never admit it to anyone, but he feels guilty." Wilson shot her an incredulous look.

"He figures it's not his fault," she clarified. "But you're his best friend, maybe his only friend. In the one time in your relationship that you probably need him most, he feels so badly about what happened, he doesn't even want to talk to you." Cuddy took a deep breath. "He doesn't know how to react to grief, you know that." Wilson nodded in agreement and turned back to his drink. "House's normal response is to be a jerk. This time-with you-he can't bring himself to do that to you." Cuddy wondered if she was saying too much. "It's the only time I've ever seen him express true regret over anything, even if it is in his own unique way."

Wilson let this concept sink in, the inner struggle of it visible in his demeanor.

Cuddy prayed to anyone that would listen that Wilson wouldn't remember she'd said that in the morning. Hopefully he'd remember the sentiment while having a cup of coffee and think that he'd stumbled upon it himself. Damn.

"Lisa?"

"Yes, James?"

"I think we ought to leave now."

She couldn't have agreed more.

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a/n: i sincerely hope i did these wonderful characters justice :) as of now this is a one-shot, but i may motivate myself to write more. many thanks to my beta carynna, and to the girl who sits behind me in history who put up with me asking her to read this. thanks for reading! xoxo-xan


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